


Everything

by JustJasper



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Multiple Orgasms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 21:16:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7454236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustJasper/pseuds/JustJasper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian deserves love and power orgasms. The Bull provides.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything

  **"I know that when he has sex he laughs like the world is a perfect place." - Karen Marie Moning**

Dorian is beautiful. The Bull knows it, Dorian knows it, everyone with eyes to see knows it. It's a fact, a truth, of no real consequence except for when Dorian wields it as skilfully as his staff.

In bed, naked and sweating and eyelids heavy with desire, Dorian is _breathtaking_ , and it means _everything_.

His makeup is hours gone, no mascara curling his lashes, no pencil filling his dark brows, his hair in untamed waves, his moustache askew. It's as deliberate as putting down his weapon, the shedding of that armour. He does it grudgingly for others, when he has to go without, and does it willingly in the Bull's bed.

“Don't leave me waiting,” Dorian says, as if the Bull ever has, as if he ever could. He leans down, strokes his knuckles along Dorian's hard cock.

“I got you.”

“Yes, you have me.”

The Bull kisses him as he wraps his huge hand around Dorian's length, catches the gasp Dorian makes.

“You've been so patient, letting me have my way with you.”

How hard Dorian got, with just the Bull's fingers and mouth along the soft brown skin of his inner thigh, his chest, his neck. How beautifully he'd sighed, and groaned, and gasped as he let the Bull linger at the crook of his elbow, at his clavicle.

“Sometimes a man can stand to lie back and be adored.”

The Bull does adore him, loves him. He strokes his fist around Dorian's cock, only just enough oil to make it smooth. Dorian moans on a breath, lifting his hips into the sensation. He's hot and heavy in the Bull's hand, crown wet with precome.

Each upward stroke closes the head of Dorian's cock in the Bull's fist, and he squeezes before he pushes his fist down again, dragging Dorian's foreskin back. Dorian gasps against his mouth, fingers digging into his neck.

“Bull, yes.”

It would be so easy to push Dorian to orgasm, with how long he's teased him, but Dorian is so stunning here caught before his release that he would keep him there for hours if he could, if Dorian was willing.

Dorian moans, and he thinks that maybe that's not what Dorian needs tonight. He strokes him steadily, twists his fist around until Dorian is thrusting against him, given up on kissing him but clinging to him all the same, breath hot against his jaw.

“Bull, Bull, I—”

The Bull can feel it as Dorian clenches, his muscles rigid even as his hips jerk with his orgasm, but not his release – only a dribble of precome to show for it, with all the moaning and shaking that normally goes along with it.

The Bull hums his amusement. “Like that tonight, is it? You want more?”

“I always want more.”

They've had a lot of sex, and a lot of practice. Tricks from tamassrans, things they've both picked up along the way, or things that bodies are just built for, if used right.

Under the Bull's steadily stroking hand, Dorian's cock stays hard.

“You're a natural at this. Like your body was built for power orgasms.”

“How convenient then,” Dorian laughs, “that you're so keen to give them to me.”

“Damn right. When you come, Dorian, shit – I'll never forget how you looked the first time I saw you come.”

If Dorian weren't so flushed already, maybe he'd blush along with the goofy grin he tries to force into submission, as he drops his head back into the pillow.

“Well. Do feel free to incite a repeat performance from me.”

He squeezes his fist around Dorian's cock, hard enough to make Dorian gasp and twitch under him.

“Hmm. I think I was a little rough with you, wasn't I?”

“I wanted it.”

“Oh, I know. These big strong hands...”

“Yes, yes. Pinning me down, stroking me off.”

The Bull starts again, rough, fast strokes as he nips along Dorian's upturned jaw, nuzzles at his ear, making sure his stubble rubs Dorian's smooth skin. He'll complain about the burn tomorrow, like he does when the Bull rubs his thighs sore. They both know he knows enough healing magic to soothe it. They both know he never does.

“Are you going to hold off again, or am I going to be able to make you come all over my hand?”

“Do you worst,” Dorian purrs, eye narrow in challenge.

It was so easy to get him off the first time, but now the Bull's hand is familiar, the callouses known, and Dorian rocks his hips into the steady motion his fist makes, eager for it. He squeezes each time the head of Dorian's cock slips into his fist, and Dorian responses with insistent fingertips digging into his shoulders, the edge of painted nails leaving their mark on him.

They've played this game before, where the Bull pushes and Dorian resists, or the same in reverse. They both cheat. The Bull eases himself off his other arm so he can grab and roll Dorian's balls as he strokes him, so he can press insistent fingers along his perineum.

“Kaffas, you _brute_ ,” Dorian groans, though the way his hand lingers in mid-air where the Bull pulled away has the Bull's heart thudding wildly in his chest. He loves this man. This man loves him back.

“Come on, kadan,” he coos, “let me have it.”

“Absolutely not,” Dorian groans, even as his body shakes and his toes curl, and he devolves into shouting and clutching great fistfuls of bedsheets as he comes. It's dry again. Dorian's triumph is a lazy grin, and the Bull slows his fist on Dorian's still hard cock.

“Shit, that's hot, you saving it all up. You're going to make such a mess when I make you spend yourself.”

“One day,” Dorian begins, then swallows and takes a big breath, as if to gather himself. He beckons the Bull to him, and pulls him by the neck for a kiss that lingers, lips sliding against lips, the hint of teeth. “One day, I'd have you do this to me, make me come and come, and not have me spend. Make me save it all week.”

The Bull's heavy cock twitches enough to make him grunt.

“You're full of dirty ideas.”

“Oh, I try.”

Dorian kisses him, takes his mouth and meets his tongue eagerly as the Bull starts to stroke him again.

He's needy now, panting against the Bull's mouth. He knows what it's like to ride out the continual arousal, satisfied but not slaked, body still thrumming keenly for completion.

“Bull,” he murmurs, “I rather think you'll win.”

The Bull knew he'd win even before Dorian predicts it; he was unprepared, foolish to propose this game in the middle of things rather than before. No time to prepare, already swept along by pleasure. It doesn't matter. There'll be games again, times when it's more important they stick it out.

“I'm going to make you come,” the Bull says. Dorian only groans, hips thrusting erratically against the Bull's fist around his cock.

When Dorian comes he yells and moans, head thrown back, the delicious line of his neck exposed to the Bull. He puts a kiss there, runs his tongue where Dorian's pulse pounds under his skin as his coats the Bull's hand and his own chest with his spend.

“Stroke yourself off on me,” Dorian pants, cock still twitching out spurts of come under the motion of the Bull's continued attention, “Never let it be said that I'm a poor loser.”

Only now that Dorian draws attention to it does he realise how hard he is, how close he is to his own finish. It hardly takes anything, as he uses the hand coated in Dorian's come to stroke himself, aims where Dorian spent on himself. When the Bull comes, his seed joining Dorian's in thick ropes across his stomach.

Dorian laughs, still breathless, delighted at the mess they've made together.

He is _breathtaking_. It means _everything_.

**“** **Two people in love, alone, isolated from the world, that's beautiful.” - Milan Kundera**


End file.
